


Consequences

by Macx



Series: Gray Areas [9]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Crowley and Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-12
Updated: 2005-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:43:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heaven broke its word. Aziraphale has been recalled, and Crowley is left feeling the void the angel left behind... in the worst possible way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consequences

There isn't a sadder sight than a demon completely down on his luck.

A demon so drunk, he was hard pressed to remember how to sober up.

A demon on PCP, LSD, speed, coke, heroine, mushrooms, grass, crack, ecstasy and whatever else humanity had invented to escape from reality.

It worked for demons, too.

Their bodies were mostly human. And in Crowley's case, something deep inside was, too.

The flat had seen better days. Where there had once been an almost clinical cleanness, there was now… everything but clinical cleanliness. And in the middle of the mess that was… had been… the bedroom, Crowley cowered against one wall, hugging himself, hands clawing into his shoulders – literally – and his dishevelled dark head was bowed. The clothes had been torn, the claws making no difference between fabric and skin. Blood was everywhere.

Crowley didn't care.

His drug-hazed mind was flashing wildly, sometimes high, sometimes low, sometimes nothing at all. Depression followed a maniacal high, just to be depression again.

He was a sorry sight, a total wreck, in bad need of a shower, sleep, and probably ruthless decontamination – but he didn't care.

He had lost Aziraphale.

The angel was gone.

He had killed Aziraphale.

The angel was gone.

Aziraphale was gone.

Soft, keening noises escaped his throat and he curled up more, pressing his back against the wall.

The plants were watching with mixed feelings, wondering if this was just a phase. Since it had been going on for a while, the phase was rather… intense. Still, they did little to invoke their caretaker's wrath. Most of them had withered away after two weeks had passed, unable to survive the drought. Others had held on longer, but even they had had to give up. Only a few very resilient ones still didn't give up.

Crowley ignored them.

Heaven had taken his angel. Hell had torn him to pieces.

A demon had delivered him to the forces of Below.

An angel had come to bring him to divine justice.

For Crowley, there was no difference any more. He couldn't make anything out of everything. At least anything logical. Memories and thoughts and emotions were running together into one happy melting pot, stoked by drugs and other toxic waste in his body, and what he saw put every Hollywood horror movie to shame. The special effects alone would have made Steven Spielberg weep in admiration.

Sometimes reality snuck in, but it was brief. It had no chance against the melee.

He didn't sober up.

He didn't clean out his system.

He just… suffered.

Demons were fallen angels, they were meant to suffer. And Crowley was meant to suffer for what he had done to Aziraphale.

Tears tracked down grimy cheeks, but he didn't care.

He had lost Aziraphale.

He knew it was his fault.

His mind repeated that particular information over and over and over. He recalled their fights, the first really bad battle. It had ended with blood on his claws and Aziraphale's screams.

Glazed-over eyes blinked open and he detached one hand from the death-grip it had on his shoulder. He looked at the bloodied claws, tears gathering in his eyes.

He had hurt his precious angel. He had broken the sensitive wings, had torn out feathers, had delighted in the damage he had inflicted.

That Aziraphale had given just as good as he'd got slipped his mind. He only remembered his side. His damage. His delight. His triumph.

"Zira," he rasped, his voice raw and broken.

He had lost. Everything.

… Everything.

Crowley buried the claws in his shoulder once more, the pain nothing compared to the pain in his soul.

Everything.

 

* * *

 

Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief when he returned to the place he loved so much. Not just the quaint little bookshop in Soho, no, the whole world of humans. He loved Earth and when the call had come, something inside him had frozen in fear. It hadn't been so much an order as a request. By Michael himself.

He was still an angel and even if He had released him of his duties, Aziraphale still followed a lifelong protocol. When he was called, he would follow. That it had been Michael's handwriting had worried Aziraphale. The personal assistant to Him never took care of menial matters, and Aziraphale was a lower angel and with it a very menial matter. He would have expected Gabriel at best.

But Michael?

The feeling in the pit of his stomach had only intensified with every moment.

So he had gone. Reluctantly, but he had gone. It had been just for a few hours, a day at most. Probably just some kind of bureaucratic matter. Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

And it had been.

He had been asked to sign a few forms that relieved Heaven of all liability when it came to Aziraphale's actions from now on. The angel had nearly laughed out loud. It was so… so… typical! Then he had been told to clean out his things, whatever there was left after six millennia of being Down There. Aziraphale hadn't been back in Heaven. There had been no reason to. He was a field agent, he sent in his reports, and there had also never been a request for his presence.

Not that Heaven was throwing annual employee parties or anything of the like anyway.

Aziraphale had trashed it all. There was nothing he wanted to take along. Angels didn't have lockers per se, but they had little places where they kept personal things. Or their battle gear. Aziraphale doubted he would ever need the rather outdated and, for his tastes, garish chest shield, gauntlets or the silly sandals. He briefly considered keeping the short toga, then threw it out, too. Crowley would have had a laugh about that one.

It had been strange to be back in Heaven, to feel His Presence all around him, to see all the familiar faces. Aziraphale felt warm and loved, His Presence caressing his celestial soul, but he no longer craved it like a starving man. His time on Earth had made him… independent.

No one had paid him much attention. It was as if he didn't exist and somehow it didn't really bother him. He had never been like them; Aziraphale had been different right from the first day. He heard whispers from some as he removed the last traces of his existence Up Here, whispers about him consorting with demons.

Yeah, well, I'm sleeping with one, you gits! he thought, feeling no guilt or embarrassment. I'm sleeping with Crowley and it's the best thing that ever happened to me! You should try it. No, wait, you'd be flayed alive.

The whispers didn't bother him, not even the looks of disgust.

He loved Crowley.

Nothing about it was disgusting, embarrassing or dirty.

What had slightly disturbed him was the moment Michael had come to talk to him. The Arch-angel was an awe-inspiring presence and Aziraphale had swallowed, fear briefly coursing through him.

It hadn't been bad. It had been more of a friendly chat, a few words of advice, a little reminder of where Aziraphale had come from, that he was still, generally speaking, an angel. Of course he knew that!

What had shocked him upon his return was the time that had passed.

Aziraphale stood inside his bookshop, staring at the dust covered display, at his clock that was such a nifty little device that it told him not only the time of day, no, but also the date, too.

No…

His breathing became slightly erratic. He hadn't even been aware of breathing anyway.

No…

Crowley…! The thought raced through him, hot on the heels of the panic.

Aziraphale was out of the bookshop and running down the street without thinking.

He ran the whole way to the flat, muscles burning from the exercise he wasn't used to.

"Crowley?" he called as he barged into the flat without knocking.

Dear God… Please… It was only for a day!

At least he had written that on the note he had left his lover. Crowley had been out of reach when the message from Above had come, and Aziraphale had been told to come immediately. Calling Crowley on the cell had only gotten him a 'the caller is currently unavailable', and he had left a hand-written note.

He had mentioned the visit to Heaven. He had said he would be back soon.

He hadn't been.

He had been gone for… weeks upon weeks upon… He swallowed.

"Oh my goodness, Crowley…!" he breathed as he found his demon.

Tremors wreaking the slender form, the whole body covered in deep claw marks, blood and whatnot, the demon cowered in one corner, weeping. There were feathers everywhere. Black feathers…

"Please, no…"

The wings weren't out, but from the looks of it. Crowley had had several sessions with feathers flying everywhere.

Aziraphale hurried over to his trembling lover and sank to his knees.

"Crowley?"

The dishevelled head rose and glazed, yellow eyes regarded him dumbly.

"Not real," Crowley breathed.

"I'm real, my dear. I'm very much real."

There was a dry swallow. "No… not real… dead…. You're dead… they took you… they…"

Aziraphale touched him, the skin underneath his touch hot and dry. Crowley whimpered.

"I'm very much real and no one killed me."

"I did. Killed you. Can angels be ghosts?" The badly dilated eyes darted around the room. "Hell… back in Hell… you're dead… coming to haunt me… killed you."

"No, Crowley, no. I'm not dead. I was recalled to Heaven and it took longer than I anticipated."

And something small and dark and evil inside Aziraphale suggested that Michael had manipulated him, had manipulated time. He hadn't been in Heaven for more than a day! But the time on Earth had passed a lot faster.

Clawed fingers reached out and gingerly touched Aziraphale. "Feels so real… did the last time, too. Killed you…" Crowley repeated, completely lost in his hallucinations. "Delivered you to them… made you Fall… you're gone. Gone. Everything's over. My punishment. Too good to be true. Loved you… my mistake. Lost you. They took you."

Aziraphale took the narrow, too warm face into his hands and made Crowley look at him. "I'm real, I'm here, and you didn't do anything," he said firmly. "I'm fine. No one's punishing you."

The angel's aura grew, enveloped the severely damaged demon, and Crowley's eyes widened more. His breathing caught.

"Zira?"

"Yes, it's me. Everything's going to be all right, my dear. Everything."

"You were gone… no sign… gone…" Crowley's trembling fingers reached for Aziraphale's face.

The angel didn't flinch away as sharp claws that still had blood on them touched his face. The moment Crowley's eyes fell on the blood, though, he cried out. He tried to scramble away, but it was an uncoordinated shuffle and the wall kept him in place.

"No!" he wailed. "No! I killed you!"

Aziraphale grabbed the dangerous hands and held on. "Ssshhh…. It's not my blood, dear. It's yours. You hurt yourself. I'm okay. Not a scratch on me. You did nothing to me. Crowley, please… calm down…"

The hyperventilating demon was still whimpering, but his drained body was unable to maintain the adrenaline flow. He slumped, curling up again. Aziraphale sighed softly. There was no getting through to him and it was mainly due to the amount of alcohol and drugs. He could think of only one solution – he had to get Crowley to bed, let him sleep it off.

It wasn't really all that hard to get the too light form into bed. Still radiating reassurance, Aziraphale brushed a hand over the warm forehead, leeching the drugs out of the demon's system. Crowley murmured a little, but his eyes stayed closed. He began to undo the buttons on the slashed shirt, then just miracled it away, together with the trousers. Aziraphale made an unhappy noise as he took in the severe damage to Crowley's human body. So many scratches and deep puncture wounds where Crowley had punished himself, where he had attacked what he had blamed…

"Oh dear…" Aziraphale whispered and began to heal the damage.

Why had Michael done this? Why had he manipulated time, had taken it from Aziraphale, sent him back much later than just twenty-four hours? What had been the reason?

Crowley moved, eyes blinking open but without seeing anything. They were still glazed and Aziraphale leaned forward, stroking over the too warm skin.

"Crowley, dear?"

There was a ragged intake of breath and a whimper. Crowley's hands came up, touching Aziraphale, exploring tentatively, and the angel thought away his clothes to have full skin contact.

"I'm fine," he whispered again. "Just fine. It's okay. Go to sleep. Rest. You need it."

"Gone…" Crowley managed.

"No, I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere. Trust me."

"Love… you…" the demon stuttered weakly. "Zira… sorry… never meant… never… they took you away… gone."

His arms pulled the angel down against the naked chest.

"Last chance… failed… fell again," Crowley rambled on, wrapping weak arms around the naked angel. "Loved you… Zira… so empty… so alone… hurts… hurts… make it stop… please…"

Suddenly he felt his lover’s body starting to tremble viciously, heart-wrenching sobbing sounds escaping his throat, as he sensed something break inside him. The wetness at his neck was the last clue to something he had never expected to witness: Crowley was crying.

Aziraphale remained where Crowley had pulled him, listening to the uneven breathing, the erratic heartbeat, and tears gathered in his eyes.

Finally the demon quieted down and soon was out like a light.

"Oh Crowley," he whispered. "Oh dear…"

 

* * *

 

Crowley woke slowly. Step by step his fogged brain registered that he was in his flat, in his bed, and that there was a warm presence. Crowley sighed contentedly and closed his eyes again. Obviously the world was in order. He snuggled a little deeper into the embrace. There was this warmth and security, the feeling of his angel in his arms, and the demon knew he was whole. The black hole inside him was closing down, was no longer hurting, and the sensation of Aziraphale so close was… heady. Intoxicating. Indescribable.

Yellow eyes opened and his fingers twitched over silky smooth skin. He heard the steady breathing of his angel, felt the warm weight against his body, and as he stared at the ceiling of his flat, memories came back.

Aziraphale's note. Leaving for one day because of some matter in Heaven. He had been recalled.

Crowley waiting.

Waiting.

For days.

Weeks.

So long.

And Aziraphale was gone.

He had tried to find out what the bloody heck was wrong, why Aziraphale stayed gone, but he had been running into walls. And he hadn't been that desperate to go into a church. He wouldn't have made it onto the church ground anyway.

He was a demon.

Heavenly matters didn't include him.

And after some time had passed, Crowley had simply known: Aziraphale was gone. He might not have Fallen, but he was back in His realm. A realm where there was no place for Crowley.

The demon had never known such soul-deep, emotional pain than the moment he had been struck by that realization. He was alone. And it hurt. And it was cold. And it was dark and black and desolate, and he was alone…

Aziraphale was gone.

Heaven had broken its word that the angel was now on his own, and they had recalled him.

The only being who had accepted him, who had never tried to truly change him. An angel. Aziraphale had been kind to him, always. Well, not while they had been fiercely fighting in the first few decades. But later…

Crowley had turned to alcohol, and later to drugs. He would love to claim that he didn't remember a thing he had done while under the influence, but he was a demon, not human. Demons remembered. In vivid detail.

He swallowed hard.

He remembered the hallucinations, the nightmares, the terror of his emotions, the twisted images his mind supplied him. He remembered it all and it made him sick to his very demonic heart.

There was a soft sound of someone waking and he tightened his hold on the naked form as if he was afraid that Aziraphale would vanish.

"Shhh," the angel whispered and the demon felt a hand stroking his hair gently, the sleepy voice murmuring into his ear. “Shhh, it’s okay, everything’s fine, I’m here.”

"Zira?" he whispered.

Blue eyes smiled at him, the familiar face full of warmth and loving.

“Hey."

There was an overwhelming sensation of possessive need radiating through Crowley and he enveloped Aziraphale in a tight hug. He had to know that his angel was really there, not just a hallucination.

“I’m real.”

"I know," Crowley breathed.

Aziraphale kissed his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his eyes, and finally his lips. Crowley's response was desperate, too weak, needy, and he felt the lump in his throat again.

"Zira," he pleaded.

"I'm here. I'm not going to leave again," the angel calmed him. "How about a shower?"

Crowley felt the sluggish response of his body. "How long did I sleep?" he asked.

"A week. Your body needed the time. You were pretty devastated."

He knew that. He had a clear memory of what exactly he had treated his body to. The cocktail would have killed humans, but demons were very resilient.

Aziraphale steadied him when Crowley got out of bed, his knees like rubber, still shaking, and he was glad when the angel got with him into the shower. There was nothing sexual about the way Aziraphale assisted him. He washed his hair, his back, his hands professional, detached. When the water had stopped and they stepped out of the shower, Aziraphale wrapped him up in a large towel. Crowley leaned into the hands rubbing him dry and finally stole a little kiss.

His angel answered it, lips opening up, letting him in, meeting the hesitant contact.

"Hungry?" he asked when they parted, foreheads touching.

"Yeah."

"Want to go out?"

He shivered a little. "No, not really."

Right now he was so totally off balance, going out and facing the world wasn't his top priority. He needed… he wanted… just to be here. He wanted to be here, with his angel.

Aziraphale smiled and ran his fingers through the damp strands. Blue eyes met yellow ones, reassuring in their depths, their steadiness.

"What are you in the mood for?"

"Chinese?"

Aziraphale nodded. "Okay. Get dressed, I'll order."

Crowley dressed quickly, his meagre energy reserves draining as he miracled the black shirt and black jeans into existence. It got him a chastising look from Aziraphale, who was using the speed dial on Crowley's cell to call for take-out.

 

 

Sitting together, dozens of cartons of Chinese on the table before them, Crowley studied his lover. He drank in the sight of his angel, his Aziraphale, who didn't look any worse than before. He did look more radiant, though.

Heaven becomes you, angel, he thought glumly.

"Crowley, dear?"

And you're still too quick on the uptake, he added with a mental sigh.

"Hm?"

"What's bothering you?"

"You went back. To Heaven."

"Yes. Michael asked me to come and… Well, clear out my locker, so to speak."

Crowley looked at him, frowning a little, but he didn't comment on it.

"Took a bit," he only said, non-committal.

Aziraphale stabbed at the noodles with his chopsticks. "Yes."

"Got caught up?" In Heaven? Not that I can fault you for it. It's your place of birth. Mine, too, if you look closely at it. But I don't miss it.

"No. I thought I was gone for a day."

"Hate to remind you, but you were gone for more than a day." That had come out sharper and with more accusation than he had wanted it to be.

Crowley stared at his Chicken Noodles.

"I know that now, Crowley. I didn't know it then. Michael wanted to talk to me in private after I had cleared my place. I trusted in him to send me back within twenty-four hours. You know times passes differently in Heaven."

More poking at the chicken and Crowley viciously speared a piece. Arch-angels… couldn't trust those high and mighty morons!

"What did he want of you?" he demanded.

"Uh…" Aziraphale ducked his head. "He… wanted to, well… he kind of… gave me a talking to about… you… us…"

Crowley forgot his anger for a moment, about the pain he had suffered in the last weeks, and stared at his angel.

"He talked to you about us?" he echoed.

The blush deepened.

"And what about us? He warn you about not having sex without a condom, or what?"

Aziraphale cleared his throat.

And Crowley started to laugh. "He did? The old fart! He doesn't have a single idea what sex is! Condoms? You and me? What does he think I could catch from you? Divinity? Or he thinks I could plant evil inside you?" Crowley's smile was downright nasty. "Oh yeah, planting the seed of demonic evil."

"Crowley, really…"

The demon was in stitches and forgot all about his chicken and his prior anger. "Condoms!" he howled. "Oh, this is too good!"

Aziraphale shook his head and chewed on his shrimps.

Crowley wiped tears of laughter out of his eyes, the yellow orbs sparkling with mirth. "So, you told him you're careful?"

"I told him to mind his own business, actually," Aziraphale said with a casual air. "I'm no longer one of his angels and he's not responsible for what I do. I was kicked out."

Crowley felt a note or pride for his angel. "You really told off an Arch-angel?"

Aziraphale evaded his eyes. "Yes."

"I'm so proud of you."

"Don't be. It felt… strange."

Crowley leaned over and stole a shrimp. "You'll get used to it. He had no right poking into our privacy."

The angel retaliated by spearing a piece of chicken. "No, he didn't have," he only said.

Crowley tried to get another shrimp, but deft chopsticks fought him off. A small fight ensued and in the end the demon crowed in delight as Aziraphale surrendered his food with a chuckle.

Crowley looked at his lover again, noting the happiness, the radiance, and his mood dropped a little. An angel needed Heaven to be truly an angel. Aziraphale had missed out on the experience of Him for six millennia and now he had been back. He had felt the Presence, the love, the warmth. He had been home.

"Crowley?"

"Nothing," he murmured dismissively.

"Crowley, please," Aziraphale said softly.

"You're… radiant, angel."

Aziraphale looked surprised for a moment, then embarrassed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to…" He collected his aura, the radiance dying down.

"No!" Crowley protested. "No, it's not hurting me! It's just… Heaven becomes you, Zira."

"It doesn't. This…" Aziraphale made a vague gesture, "is just like… reloading your batteries in a hurry. I'm not going back, Crowley. Never."

The demon so much wanted to believe him, but he also saw the other side. He saw the good it had done for his angel.

"Crowley, trust me. My stay in Heaven won't be repeated."

"You were with Him. Don't tell me you didn't bathe in his Presence!" Crowley snapped angrily. "You're a bloody angel! You get off on that!"

He jumped up and the chair clattered to the floor from the force.

Aziraphale rose hurried and caught him before Crowley could leave. His arms came around the slender form and he held on tight.

"Crowley," he whispered. "Crowley, dear, please. You were there once. You know that an angel can't but react to the Light that is Him. The moment I was back, His Presence was there. I can't turn it off or ignore it. But I'm here and not there. I wanted to leave as quickly as possible."

Crowley trembled a little. "He's everything to angels," he croaked.

"Not to this one. You are. I love you, Crowley. His Presence will always influence me. His Light will always feed my aura, but it's you who I love in a way no other angel can love."

Crowley felt something inside of him break. "Don't leave again," he said brokenly.

Aziraphale tightened his hold. "Never."

 

* * *

 

Twenty-four hours had passed since Crowley had woken and Aziraphale had watched his lover with eagle eyes. The demon still appeared emotionally unsteady and despite his outward confidence, there were a lot of insecurities left. As usual, he tried to hide them behind snide remarks or changing the topic. So far. Aziraphale had played along.

Not much longer.

Thoughts were still racing through his mind, accompanied by the memories of finding his lover in such a devastating condition. He had never seen Crowley so badly off before, not even in times of frustration throughout the centuries. Crowley wasn't the suicidal type; he was a survivor. To do this to his body and mind, something terrible had happened. By the time Aziraphale had returned from Above, the demon had been delirious, hallucinating, and on the brink of a coma or worse. Their bodies could only take so much abuse before shutting down.

Crowley had been at the edge and had nearly taken the last step.

Why?

Why had he done it?

He needed answers. And only one could give them.

"Crowley?" the angel asked in the evening of the second day.

It was time to stop playing; time to get answers.

"Hm?" The demon looked up from where he had been watching the umpteenth re-run of the Golden Girls.

"Why did you do it?"

Crowley's body tensed and Aziraphale waited.

"Do what?" the demon just asked, eyes still on the telly.

Aziraphale switched it off with a wave of his hand, feeling anger rise. "Don't play with me, Crowley, you know what I mean. You drugged yourself. You were non-stop drunk! You abused your body in the worst possible way. Your apartment was wrecked, the plants were almost all dead, and you… you were close to comatose and completely delirious. For weeks!"

"I've been drunk before," Crowley muttered stubbornly, throwing the remote aside.

"Yes, you have been. So have I. Sometimes together. Well, mostly together. But you never had such total disregard for your health and safety! Crowley, what's wrong with you? What made you take such a cocktail of drugs that you couldn't even sober up properly any more? You were so far gone… I almost lost you!"

Yellow eyes flared at the last words and the demon shot up from the chair, tipping it over.

"You nearly lost me?" he echoed loudly. "Well, I bloody well lost you, angel! You were gone! Gone! Absent! No longer here! Frigging recalled to bloody heaven!"

"For a day," Aziraphale interjected.

"It wasn't just a day!" Crowley shouted. "It was weeks! Weeks! Months! I can do days without you just fine! I can do weeks, too!"

"But not months?" the angel asked softly.

A tremor ran through the lithe frame. "You were gone," Crowley repeated. "You said it would be only for a day. But it was Heaven. And you were gone. And I felt it…" A shaking hand touched his chest. "It was like losing… myself. And it wasn't the drugs," he whispered. "It was before I took them. I needed them to numb the sensations. You were gone and I didn't just see it… I felt it, Zira. It hurt. I thought you wouldn't come back and it was… agony."

Aziraphale stared at his lover, speechless. Yes, he had missed Crowley, too, but he hadn't felt a physical pain…

"You… hurt?"

He nodded slowly, evading the angel's eyes. "It was like an open wound," Crowley confessed softly. "And I couldn't take it. I couldn't… wouldn't think about eternity without you, Zira. I know I can't go back to Hell, and they wouldn't let me back in Above either. You're the only thing I have…" He stopped his rambling, pale as a sheet, embarrassed.

"Oh Crowley…" the angel whispered.

Aziraphale was still angry, but no longer so livid. Realization was settling in, realization as to what lengths Crowley was willing and ready to go. Realization that something about them had changed. His lover had destroyed himself, destroyed his mind and his emotions and his sensations, because the angel had been away.

… because he had stopped feeling him?

Aziraphale was fearful to think this any further, but his mind still did.

Crowley had suffered from the separation. Crowley had hurt. Crowley had felt alone. Crowley was a demon and demons were used to being loners! A few years with Aziraphale as such an intimate companion shouldn't be able to erase millennia of demonic behavior.

But it had.

It still did.

They had been able to sense each other after the first two millennia as field agents on earth. That sensation had increased in the last hundred years and had peaked right after the Near-Apocalypse. Aziraphale was always aware of Crowley; always. It was reassuring and gave him a comfort he had never thought he needed. Crowley was there; with him. And the demon felt the same in turn.

Except for the months Aziraphale had been gone.

"Oh dear," he murmured in shock.

He stepped toward the trembling demon, trembling himself. His shock was chasing his fear.

"This isn't normal," Crowley whispered. "It's not. I shouldn't feel like this. This isn't just love… Angel, what is this?!"

He cupped one cheek, stroking the soft skin with a thumb, frightened in turn. "I don't know, dear. Something has changed."

The demon swallowed and Aziraphale felt the shock settle deeper. He began to shake a little.

Crowley drew him into his arms, holding him tight, and Aziraphale felt a soft moan leave his lips, echoed by Crowley.

They were free of Heaven and Hell, but something else had caught them, was changing them, and Aziraphale was terrified of it. Part of him felt nothing but rage at what Michael had apparently done, that the arch-angel had deliberately sent him back too late. Another part wondered why Michael should do that. He wouldn't act without an order, and Aziraphale doubted He would give such a senseless order.

Chasing those thoughts away, he concentrated on the man in his arms, the demon holding him just as fiercely as he did Crowley.

"I'm not leaving again," he vowed softly.

"You better not," came the growl, but it was shaky.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, unfurling his wings, and wrapped them in the pristine whiteness. It was like their shield against everything, and Crowley whispered into his hair.

The angel smiled dimly.

 

* * *

 

He had sunk deep into his white leather couch, into the fluffed up pillows, and a very soft blanket made the couch more of a nest than a seating arrangement. Aziraphale was at his side, looking happy and content, Crowley's arms around the angel's waist, holding him. He needed the close contact, needed the reassurance, even if it had been three days now. Three days where Aziraphale had been back, where everything was right again, where he felt wonderfully complete.

They had talked. Not at length, just the necessary explanations. Crowley felt a deep loathing toward Above rise once more. He had thought he had overcome his resentment for Him, but now it flared anew. Why had Michael manipulated time and sent Aziraphale back much later than the promised day? What was the reason? Why?

Neither his angel nor Crowley himself had an answer. Aziraphale had vowed never to leave for Above again, be it for whatever reason, unless Crowley was allowed to come, too.

The demon in turn had wondered, for the first time, why the absence of his lover had affected him so badly. He remembered the growing darkness inside him, the open, sucking wound, the coldness, the rising desperation, and the sensation as if something important had been removed.

He and Aziraphale had spent decades apart in the past. There had been no averse effects. None at all. Why now?

There was no answer.

Just the current feeling of healing, of contentment, of his angel with him. His emotions were still on the rampage, scaring him, terrifying him in their intensity. His body had regenerated, had expelled all drugs and he was completely sober, but the emotions… they were growing. Like a band constricting his chest they made it hard to breathe, hard to think, and whenever they were together, in bed, on the couch, wherever, looking at Aziraphale he saw his emotions reflected in those celestial blue eyes.

He was terrified.

He felt so… human.

Aziraphale made soft, cooing noises and stroked over his head and back.

"It's okay," he whispered.

"No, it's not," Crowley replied hoarsely. "Bloody… shit…gnh!" He screwed his eyes shut against the new surge.

He felt angelic lips on his, felt himself respond, the claws coming unbidden as he rolled his angel around to look down on him. He felt the fangs, the unrestrained emotions making him lose control. Terror and fear had made way for lust, seeking a non-violent outlet, though Crowley doubted that what they were doing could be classified as non-violent….

"Crowley," Aziraphale whispered, one hand tangling in the black strands. He smiled at him.

"I want this to stop," the demon hissed desperately.

"It's emotions, my dear. They don't just stop. You have to ride them out."

He gnashed his teeth, rumbling softly. "I don't want them any more!"

The hand caressing his head and face was distracting. "None of them?" the angel asked, eyes sparkling warmly.

Crowley exhaled, hissing again. "I want… I… I feel it all… I love you… I want to continue feeling this… but everything else… it's too much!"

Aziraphale placed a finger onto his lips and Crowley sucked it into his mouth, drawing a little 'oh' out of his lover. Sharp fangs grazed the digit without injuring the skin. Aziraphale shivered and his aura pulsed with arousal.

Crowley rumbled deeply, his hips meeting Aziraphale's with a downward thrust.

He felt so much, needed to get it out of system, but it wouldn't go. He was using his angel to sate his carnal pleasure and while Aziraphale hadn't protested even once, Crowley felt like one sick demon doing it.

With a groan of frustration he released Aziraphale's finger and collapsed onto the slender form underneath. Strong arms came around him, holding the trembling form.

"Crowley….?"

"I can't do this to you…"

"You're not doing anything to me, my dear."

"I'm using you."

"Don't you think I could voice my displeasure, make you stop, if I felt used?" Aziraphale asked mildly.

Crowley exhaled into the skin of his angel's neck. Strong hands stroked him, found those blessed trigger spots, and he moaned.

"Zira…"

"Let me?" the angel whispered seductively.

Something fizzed through Crowley's mind at the words, followed by another moan that had nothing to do with his arousal, just the thought of Aziraphale in him.

 

 

Crowley was still trembling with his release, felt Aziraphale's warm body against his, and he held on tight, smelling the unique scent of his lover. Things were quieting down inside him, the hubbub of emotions evening out, and he relaxed.

"That's one way, angel," he breathed.

Aziraphale chuckled. "Then it worked."

"Oh, yeah, it worked."

He stretched languidly, like a cat. Muscles flexed and shifted, and he felt a hand stroke over his side, following the curve of his rib to the hip.

Aziraphale watched him with a sated expression. "Good."

They lay together in silence for a while, Crowley's eyes half-closed, the demon feeling like soft as marshmallows. Everything was warm and soft and cuddly, and so was he.

Very undemonic.

Screw demonic.

"I'm going down to the bookshop later," Aziraphale suddenly remarked. "Want to come?"

"Yeah."

There was no hesitation, no thinking about it. While his emotions were settling, the strong need to be around Aziraphale hadn't. It was as if some part of Crowley was afraid his angel would disappear just like that.

"Wonderful." He was given a kiss on the nose.

Aziraphale rose, heading for the shower, and Crowley watched the naked form disappear. He smiled to himself, feeling so wonderfully warm and complete. The memories of the weeks without Aziraphale were still bright in his mind, but he was coping now. His angel was back.

And he would stay.


End file.
